Man From Montana

by Brenda Mott

  Liz’s eyes lit up when she spotted her.

  “Kara. I thought I might find you here.”

  “My God—Liz. Is something wrong?” She caught her mother-in-law by the elbow and led her over to a quieter corner in the back of the bar, near the restrooms. “Are you sick?”

  Liz looked insulted. “No. Are you saying I can’t venture out alone?”

  “No, it’s just that…I thought you hadn’t been feeling well lately.”

  “I decided fresh air might do me some good.”

  “In this smoky bar?”

  Liz had the good grace to blush. “I drove to your house, thinking we might do something together, but since you weren’t there, well…”

  Pointedly, Kara eyed Liz’s western attire. “You thought you’d put on some western clothes and play cowgirl?”

  “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m not.” Kara chuckled. “You don’t know how good it is to see you here.”

  “Really? You’re not mad?”

  “Why would I be?”

  Liz squirmed. “You caught me. I was checking up on you. I wanted to see the place you’ve been hanging out at.”

  Enough to get up the gumption to come to the bar.

  “I don’t ‘hang out’ here. I come here once in awhile to hear the music and have fun with my girlfriends.”

  Her mother-in-law’s gaze darted toward the bandstand, even though they didn’t have a clear view of it from where they stood. “Is your friend Derrick playing tonight?”

  “No. He’s not. And that’s exactly what he is—a friend.” The half truth made Kara feel guilty. But how could she even think about moving on to something more with Derrick, especially seeing the look on Liz’s face?

  Though she tried to hide it, Liz was clearly relieved and satisfied. “Well. I guess you think I’m horrible, coming here to a bar by myself after I gave you such a hard time.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I wasn’t going to stay if you weren’t here.”

  Kara read the mixed message. In truth, Liz would’ve left if she hadn’t found her. On the other hand, since she had…

  “Would you like to join me and my friends?” Kara asked. “I know you’ve met Danita and Hannah, but I don’t think you’ve met Beth yet.”

  “I’d love to.” Brightening, Liz followed her back to the table.

  A short while later, she laid her hand on Kara’s arm. “Am I crazy, or is that Myrna Shaw sitting at that table over there?” Discreetly, Liz pointed.

  Myrna was a prominent member of Liz’s church, and sang in the choir.

  “It is.”

  “Dear Lord.” Liz clasped one hand to her breast, looking horrified. “What is Myrna doing in a bar, for heaven’s sake? Have you seen her here before?”

  The serious look on her mother-in-law’s face caused Kara to bite down on the inside of her bottom lip. Hard. “Um. No, actually, I haven’t.”

  “Don’t stare. She’ll see us.” But Liz snuck another glance over her shoulder. “I can’t believe that. And look who’s with her. It’s Violet Harper!” Liz’s jaw dropped. “Violet is a member of Mothers Against Drunk Driving.”

  Kara shrugged. “That doesn’t mean she can’t drink. It just means she can’t drink and drive.”

  “Well, for Pete’s sake.” Liz leaned close. “Come on. Let’s go get a Coke at the bar and see who else is here.”

  KARA GOT OFF WORK at five-thirty the following Friday and drove home, exhausted. She’d picked up some food at the drive-thru window of Taco Johns, and had just sat down to eat in front of the TV when the phone rang.

  “Hi.” It was Derrick.

  Kara’s pulse quickened. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “I talked to Melanie, and I’m going to take a drive out to God’s Little Acre tomorrow morning. Still want to come with me?”

  “Um, sure. What time?”

  “Ten-thirty. That way I can sleep in. I’m playing at the Spur tonight.”

  Kara laughed. “I would’ve thought musicians slept in ’til noon.”

  He chuckled. “I never sleep past nine. That way I’ve got plenty of time for Connor when he’s here.”

  She loved that he was so devoted to his son. “Ten-thirty it is, then.”

  “So, are you going to be there tonight?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m kind of tired.”

  Besides, what if Liz showed up again like last Saturday? Even though her mother-in-law had ended up enjoying herself more than Kara would’ve ever expected, she’d also managed to make Kara feel guilty for being at the honky-tonk.

  “Long day at the bank, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you then. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye.” Kara hung up and went back to the table.

  But the tacos she’d looked forward to were all but tasteless as she bit into one. Why did Liz get to her?

  Kara fed Lady a bite of cheese and ground beef. Kara already knew she wasn’t ready for a relationship. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy Derrick’s company. She was tired of being alone.

  The next morning, Derrick came to her door promptly at ten-thirty, dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. He wore his hat, which made him look one-hundred-percent cowboy.

  “’Morning,” he said. “Ready to go?”

  “Yep.” She closed the door behind her.

  It felt strange to ride in Derrick’s truck. To be in a vehicle—for the first time in as long as she could remember—with a man who wasn’t her husband or her father-in-law or her dad. Kara covered her nervousness with idle chitchat, relieved when they arrived at the riding center.

  An Australian shepherd and a spotted dog that looked as if Mother Nature had been unable to decide if he should be a spitz or a dalmatian, trotted alongside the pickup truck, barking. Their noisy welcome drew a woman out of the stables. She was tall with a somewhat masculine build, her salt-and-pepper hair cut short. Her round face creased with laugh lines, her brown skin showed she spent a good deal of time outdoors.

  “Hello. You must be Kara and Derrick.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Kara said as she got out of the truck.

  Derrick shook Melanie’s hand. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us.” His gaze combed the area.

  “You’re more than welcome.” Melanie motioned them forward. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.” She chatted as they walked, asking Derrick a few questions about Connor. “I’m sure he’d fit in with our other riders quite nicely. Classes are held five days a week—Monday through Wednesday, and Friday and Saturday. We have several groups, some made up of younger kids, some older—mostly eleven-and twelve-year-olds.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Derrick said. “Connor was reluctant to ride with little kids.”

  “I understand.” Melanie gave them a genuinely warm smile. “He’s at that age…not a boy, yet not quite grown. My son gave me fits when he was fourteen.”

  Derrick nodded. “Tell me about it.”

  Kara looked around, admiring the stables. The barn was freshly painted, white with green trim. It was built in an L-shape, with five stall doors on one side, four on the other. White-fenced paddocks surrounded the building, and the pasture stretched out back of the stables, several horses grazing in the distance. The barn wasn’t new, but everything looked well-kept and clean.

  “I’ve got the horses turned out for the day,” Melanie said as they went in. “We had early lessons this morning. But they’ll come to us easily enough. Let me show you the rest of the facilities first. We’ve got both indoor and outdoor arenas.”

  She took them past a large indoor arena to the tack room, and explained the intricacies of the specialized equipment that allowed physically challenged children to stay safely in place.

  “We have several trained volunteers and two riding instructors, who work with me in helping the kids with their therapy and lessons,” Melanie said. “Initi
ally, a student has three volunteers with him at all times. One to lead the horse, and two—side-walkers—to make sure the rider is safe and secure.”

  The therapeutic saddles had an extra support element for the rider’s back and a large, easy to grasp handle on the front. The students all wore a walker belt, with handholds on either side for the volunteers to grip.

  “Once a student can demonstrate complete control of the horse, depending on the limitations of his disability, of course, then we remove the leader and the side-walkers. We also have a thirteen-year-old girl—Lisa Owens—who rides with the students regularly. She acts as a sort of combination volunteer and cheerleader.” Melanie smiled. “Some of the children need extra praise and encouragement from someone closer to their own age than us old geezers.”

  Behind the stables was a round pen and another large arena, with bleachers for parents to sit and watch their children ride. There was also a mounting ramp.

  “Tell me more about the specifics of the riding,” Derrick said, leaning with one foot propped against the round pen’s railing. “What’s a typical session?”

  “There really isn’t a typical session, so to speak,” Melanie explained. “Each is designed for the specific needs of the rider. Our groups consist of five students or less. We try to keep them long enough for the kids to have fun, yet short enough for them not to become too tired—about forty-five minutes.”

  She gestured toward the arena. “We put the kids through basic walking exercises. Once they’re comfortable, we create some fun obstacle courses—nothing too complicated. And as I said, there are two volunteers walking on either side of the horses, so everything is at a slow to moderate pace. We eventually work the children to a skill level that allows them to compete in our own horse shows and play days.”

  “Really?” Derrick raised his eyebrows as Kara gave him an I-told-you-so look.

  Melanie nodded. “And if the weather is bad, we spend time doing ground lessons, which are basically learning about caring for the horses and tack—grooming, feeding and such. We do hands-on demonstrations, plus we show videotapes and let the kids play horse-related computer games. Sometimes we watch videos of the riders themselves, so they can actually see what’s needed to improve.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed,” Derrick said. “So, how much do the lessons cost?”

  “We don’t charge for them.” Melanie waved to one of the stable hands as the guy turned a horse out into the arena. “All our funding comes from private donations and local sponsors.”

  Kara made a mental note to drop a check in the mail.

  At the pasture gate, Melanie called to the horses, shaking a bucket of sweet feed to get their attention. “We have a great bunch of horses. They’ve each been selected based on their disposition. Safety, of course, is a must. We can’t have any animal on the place that’s spooky or flighty.”

  “How do you go about training them?” Kara asked.

  “It’s not all that hard, since we only accept gentle horses that are completely bomb proof. Volunteer trainers, myself included, work with the horses, getting them used to being around wheelchairs, crutches…all that sort of thing. They have to be willing to take a few bumps now and then, when the kids accidentally jostle them.”

  Melanie caught and haltered a gray gelding and a seal-brown mare. With the help of one of her volunteers—Joy Zane—she demonstrated just how bomb proof the horses were. They weren’t afraid of loud noises or sudden movement, though each child was taught—to the best of his or her comprehension—the proper way to pet and talk to the horses.

  By the time they’d completed the tour, Kara felt sure Connor would enjoy riding there. If only he’d give the place a chance.

  “So,” Derrick said, “what do I do to sign Connor up for lessons? If he’ll agree to them, that is.”

  “I’ll give you an application to fill out first,” Melanie said. “It includes medical and release forms. Once we get them back, we can schedule an evaluation for Connor, which is also free. If he’s accepted, we’ll chose a time and day for his weekly sessions.” Melanie’s ready smile creased her face. “You’re welcome to bring Connor by to see the place if you’d like. Maybe that will entice him.”

  After Melanie had given Derrick the application package, he and Kara got back in the truck.

  “So, do you think you can talk Connor into coming out here?” Kara asked.

  “I don’t know.” He started the engine, and turned the truck around in the driveway. “I sure hope so. I’ll have to make sure it’s all right with Shelly, since she’ll be the one to sign the forms, but I’m sure she’ll okay it. Connor needs something to get him off that danged computer at least once in a while.” He glanced at his watch. “Hey, are you hungry?”

  Kara looked at her own watch, surprised to see it was already twelve-thirty. “I could stand a bite to eat.”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  You’re in the mood for some loving from a sexy cowboy…one in particular.

  “Uh, chicken?” She was chicken.

  “Sounds like a winner.” Derrick drove into town and parked beneath the familiar red-and-white sign.

  The sun dipped behind a spread of gray clouds as they entered the restaurant. They gave the cashier their orders, and Derrick refused Kara’s attempt to pay. “I’ve got it.”

  “Thanks.” Kara shifted uncomfortably. The outing was beginning to feel more personal than she’d intended.

  “Want to eat outside?” he asked when their order came up.

  “Sure.”

  He held the door for her, pushing it open with one hip, while he balanced their food and drinks on a plastic tray. They sat at one of the umbrella-covered tables between the building and parking lot. Kara bit into a drumstick, suddenly conscious of how messy chicken was. But the flavor erased all other thoughts. She licked her fingers, and Derrick’s eyes followed the movement.

  “Finger-licking good,” he said.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Kara swallowed her mouthful, her eyes following the movement of his tongue.

  What was wrong with her?

  Too long alone…too long without Evan. Too long without sex.

  The chirp of a cell phone made her look at her purse, but Derrick quickly wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. “It’s mine.” He pulled the phone from a clip on his belt, checking the display. An odd look crossed his face. “Hello?”

  He listened, his expression solemn, and Kara wondered if something was wrong.

  “That’s fine, Mom,” Derrick said at last. “We can do that. I won’t, don’t worry.” He turned partially away, voice lowered. “I love you, too. Please don’t cry.”

  Kara had started to get up to throw away her used napkins in the nearby trash can as an excuse to give him some privacy. But he closed the phone and clipped it back on his belt. His face was pinched…drawn.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Not really.” With a plastic fork, he poked absentmindedly at his mashed potatoes, swirling the gravy. “As you may have guessed, that was my mom. I haven’t seen her—or my dad—in quite a while.”

  “Didn’t you say they live near Miles City?” Kara tried to tamp down her curiosity.

  “Yeah, they do. But…it’s complicated.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” She broke off a piece of her biscuit, just to give her hands something to do. For a minute, Kara thought he wasn’t going to reply.

  “I don’t normally like to talk about it. But damn it, it’s eating me up inside.” He clenched his fist, his eyes full of hurt and anger.

  Impulsively, Kara reached out and touched his arm. “Can I help? I’m a good listener.”

  Again, he hesitated. “My dad basically hasn’t spoken to me since Connor’s accident. He blames me for what happened, same as I blame myself.”

  Kara barely hid her shock. “My God. Derrick, it wasn’t your fault. You were a kid.”

  “I should’ve known better.” The look on his face broke her heart. “Co
nnor is Mom and Dad’s only grandchild. I could’ve killed him. My dad refuses to forgive me for that.”

  “How can your father be so harsh?” She shook her head. “But your mom…?”

  “She hadn’t called me in ages until a couple of weeks ago.”

  Derrick explained about his mother’s cancer scare and ensuing hysterectomy. “She wants to put everything behind us, but Dad’s against it. He’s out getting a haircut right now, which is why she was able to call. Mom wants to find a way to see me without him finding out, but I’m not sure exactly how to do that.”

  “That’s awful—that your dad is hanging onto his anger.” Kara chewed her thumbnail, trying to process it. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Derrick laid down his fork and pushed his plate away. “I doubt anyone will ever be able to reach him.”

  At that moment, the dark clouds overhead—which Kara hadn’t paid attention to—opened up, letting loose a stream of rain. It spattered against the red-and-white umbrella overhead, and a sudden gust of wind caught Kara’s plate, sending it sailing into the gutter—coleslaw, drumstick and all. She let out a shriek, hunching her shoulders beneath the onslaught.

  Derrick clamped a hand on his own plate in the nick of time. “Talk about the chicken that flew the coop.”

  Kara laughed. “And it wasn’t even a wing.”

  “Make a run for the truck.” Ducking, Derrick chased after her plate and scattered utensils.

  Kara jumped into the pickup, and slammed the door shut. Through the rain-blurred windshield, she watched him dump their trash into the nearby plastic barrel, then race for the truck. The rain pounded against the pickup’s roof as Derrick slid inside. Water flowed in rivulets from the brim of his hat, and his spattered shirt clung to his chest.

  Kara looked hastily away. “Where the heck did that come from?”

  “It looks like a doozy.” Derrick started the engine and flipped on the windshield wipers, then the radio. “Good thing it waited until after our trip to the riding center.”

  “Yeah.” She buckled her seat belt, and they headed for home.

  But the storm quickly swelled into a gulley-washer, and a few short blocks later, a minor fender bender involving three cars brought traffic to a halt at a main intersection.